On this day, last year, I reluctantly turned 23. I welcomed my inevitable aging with 2 bottles of Arbor Mist and FX reruns of Superbad, followed by fits of crying and my now infamous Waffle House date. I wasn’t going into 23 with dignity if I could avoid it. Well, ladies and gentleman, I am pleased to tell you that after 365 days of fighting against this change, I have prevailed. As of today, I am no longer 23.
I’m not going to lie to you; 24 doesn’t feel all that different, aside from my overwhelming desire to kick back in some orthopedic shoes and watch my programs for a few hours. I’m actually feeling relatively decent about getting older. My biggest bitch is knowing that I am slowly inching my way toward an age where I will be too old to get away with my lack of life plan on account of being “young and exploring options.” That alone upsets me more than death or any amount of Rhianna remixes.
So to avoid that penetrating reality one more day, this is my plan:
- Wash dishes
- Walk downtown and buy a scone
- Feel bad about buying a scone
- Eat the scone anyway
- Consider bulimia
- Go to my mom’s house where she, my sister, and brother will be hanging out for an obscenely long period of time because we are way too close and somewhat unhealthy
- Weep tears of gratitude for each present I receive because I’m emotionally unstable and incredibly charming
- Compose a mental list of goals to be completed while 24, knowing full well that no matter how much I do, the very idea of turning 25 makes me want to use my small intestine as a noose
- Go to bed happy
If anyone’s got his/her shit together, it would be me.
Now, last year in order to commemorate blossoming into my new age, I reflected on my 22nd year and compiled a list of 22 accomplishments. Using that logic, one might expect a list of 23 accomplishments, however being that I was kind of lazy and unmotivated this year, there’s a good chance it will stop at 6. Let’s see how far I can get:
- Started www.thegirlwiththeblog.com; which really, barely counts as an accomplishment if we’re being honest.
- Volunteered in the Dominican Republic
- Made $800 selling Christmas cookies
- Gained 15 pounds eating Christmas cookies
- Lived with my mom for 7 months
- Spent 24 hours on the courthouse steps for Occupy Nashville
- Gained an appreciation for the 40 hour work week through periods of unemployment and current over-employment
- Met one of the best friends ever from Murfreesboro, Tennessee 🙂
- Increased my credit score despite consistently late student loan payments
- Watched every Republican Presidential Debate
- Moved into my own apartment again
- Doubled my record collection
- Discovered Breaking Bad, Mad Men, and Parenthood. I should probably be embarrassed by watching this much TV
- Like a fat Samantha Brick, been unjustifiably hit on more in my life than ever before
- Saw Titanic in 3D
- Developed an obsession with tights and stockings
- Reached 150 pages in my novel
- Realized an emphatic hatred for touch screen technology
- Was traumatized by my New Year’s Day horoscope that said I will struggle in love for the next 14 years
- Have become significantly happier since last year
- If my blog viewing stats page is correctly, hopefully made 30,000 people laugh. Or at least 12
- Most recently, met someone pretty awesome 🙂
- Came up with 23 quasi-accomplishments for this stupid list
That took way too long. Next year I’m using some form of intellectual Ex-lax to speed up this process. Or maybe I should just do more cool shit. Whatever.
The girl who is now 24 and still childishly obsessed with birthdays
I have a hard time believing I was ever fatter than this.
Right now if I poke any part of my body, my finger will be engulfed and quickly lost in at least 2 inches of superfluous fat, not to be discovered again until 2032 when I have it surgically removed, having mistaken it for a malignant tumor. It’s a bad scene, my body. A bad scene.
What’s all the more disturbing is that two years ago I was 45 pounds fatter than this.
I should have diabetes just for talking about it.
I lost the weight by eating really REALLY healthy and not exercising at all. It was like, the best plan ever. But it stopped working when I stopped eating healthy, and started spending my time swimming in a pool of shame and Burger King Carmel Frappes, poking my stomach with a ruler and crying inside. It’s like my very own sorority initiation up in here. Minus the Victoria’s Secret sweatpants.
My sister is both thin and a nutritionist, making me violently hate her. We have a mostly symbiotic relationship. I give her hair and makeup advice. She tells me how not to die. I’d say we’re even. We recently spent a week emailing back and forth about my problems with binge eating and general nutritional inadequacies. We developed a diet plan for me to follow and I was feeling rather hopeful that I would not keel over dead at 30. But of course I, being the Meryl Streep of self-sabotage, clumsily fumbled through a week and a half of mismanaged eating, losing nothing but the self confidence that I would ever be able to stop adding a slice of cheese to anything microwavable.
A week or so later my sister came home for my mother’s birthday. I woke up early so I could sneak into her room and play the old childhood standby “Funny Uncle,” but as always, the sound of my breathing from two rooms away already woke her up, so I was left with nothing to talk about but my diet. The conversation went something like this:
Sister: So how’s your diet going?
Me: I …I…um, what?
Sister: what, fat clogging your ears? I said diet, fat ass.
Me: Duh…I mean. I don’t know.
Sister: You’re disgusting.
A few hours later she tried again and the conversation went slightly better. But it’s been almost a week later and I have yet to discipline myself enough to stop eating like a rabid pig. I’m reaching a turning point though. I can feel it. Sometimes people need to hit an emotional rock bottom before deciding to better themselves and with Titanic previews encompassing much of my life and free time, I am one “But the ship can’t sink!” away from offing myself.
The girl who would rather be his whore than your wife